Paradoxes
by Debate4life
Summary: Harry has a lot of regrets, and the willpower and magic to do something about it. What will events look like with more experience and cynicism? How will Harry change things when he is given a chance? 5th year to 1st, Manipulative Dumbledore. Returning to writing after years away, so be gentle. Looking for a beta.
1. Essay and Angst

Harry Potter shoved away from his History of Magic essay in disgust. Laws against time travel- where did Binns come up with topics like these? Harry would have even preferred Goblin Wars. There was nothing more painful than to think of all the things he would have changed, if he could. Going back to the philosopher's stone- even to his childhood- sometimes it felt like Harry's life was nothing but regrets. Now, though, the loss of Sirius was like salt in old wounds. Even the old, dulled aches- lack of family, friends whose first loyalty was for another or who didn't exist at all, the thought of no one caring, at the end of the day, for Harry himself- seemed to burst open and become more painful at the thought of Sirius.

Harry supposed he couldn't really blame Binns' essay for his pain. He had only even started it in desperation for something to take his mind off things. Glancing around, Harry could see evidence of his apathy covering the room. His bed was unmade and also almost unslept in, though he had been "home" for more than a week. Only exhaustion could force him to slip into dreams, he did not try sleeping until he could not help it. A tennis ball and the dents in his ceiling spoke of mindless hours of boredom and grief. Hedwig's cage was empty. She had been sent to the Weasleys some days ago, only to return with a note that said Dumbledore had refused permission for owl post to him. He had sent her back, rather than force her to stay with him in his current mood.

Harry tipped the wobbly old desk chair back upright, and returned to his essay. Unlike Ron, who had access to a small collection of extracurricular books for his essay from his family (not that he used them), or Hermione, whose collection of books was more extensive than the entire Weasley family's and necessitated an expensive library trunk to bring to school with her, Harry was restricted in material for the essay to the topic to the short section, not even a page in length, that appeared on the topic in his textbook.

Harry read over the section again, pushing thoughts of his own regrets and wishes for a means to manipulate time to the back of his mind. The little Occlumency he had managed helped him in this task. Trying to keep his temper and grief in check in recent days was better Occlumency training than any Snape could have devised, had he actually been trying to teach Harry. Reading the section with a clear mind confused Harry this time.

Harry didn't fancy that he knew a lot about time law. His only experience with time travel was in third year- no, he wasn't going to follow that train of thought. Nonetheless, he thought it might be very difficult to catch someone who was manipulating time covertly. The small summary of Wizarding Law bore that out.

There were restrictions on the use of time turners, enforced by very complex intent wards. It was the wards, not a paradox, that would kill a time traveler who interacted with their past self in any way. Theorists believed that it was impossible to form a paradox anyway- such a thing would doubtless split off a new parallel universe. Harry did not realise until that moment how close he had come to death that day. Had he seen and recognized himself, his past self would have been Obliviated of anything to do with the encounter, and his future self would have died instantly, turned into pieces so small that even Unspeakables would be unable to reconstruct his body. After reading the punishments for stealing a time turner, Harry was glad they had been smashed by the Death Eater's body in the DOM, lest he have been tempted, and taken them without thought.

However, on the topic of time travel without a time turner, or with one outside of Ministry control, the law said nothing. Harry found this odd. Surely, if the Ministry could create a time turner, so could another inventor. Even if the materials for one were somehow monitored, Harry couldn't see that stopping Voldemort. Why weren't they more worried about that? He found the answer in another section of the book.

"Any magic is governed by intent, by the castor, the creature, or the potion master who created it. Time magic is the only exception- the only known application of time magic is the time turner. All existing time turners were created by Merlin Ambrosius himself from the freely given lives of the last of the Greater Elves, and warded with the current restrictions in place. All other potions, creature effects, and spells have been replicated, with enough raw magical power and willpower. An enchanted item allows someone without access to that kind of power and will on a regular basis to replicate the effect, but it is still an effect which could be gained through other means. In spell creation terms, the results are repeatable. Not so with time turners. For whatever reason, intent and will alone cannot replicate the effects, and the loss of the Greater Elves prevents a stab at repeating the same ritual."

Harry read that and wondered if it was true. There were no recorded attempts in the book, as there were for other magical objects of historic significance, such as the philosopher's stone. Oh, well, back to the essay...

Several hours later, predawn grey light was flooding through the threadbare drapes and bars of Harry's room. He put the finishing touches on his essay and set it aside with a yawn. It wasn't great, but it would do. It wasn't as if Binns regularly graded essays, anyway. Aside from the year-end exams, Harry had never received so much as one graded assignment back from him. Also, Harry had no intention of taking the subject into NEWTs, so the grades, provided they were passing, were not overly important for his future career.

As he yawned and moved over to the bed, he could not help a growing yearning to do it over again. If only it were possible to manipulate time without a time turner... creating an alternate universe where things went better sounded very appealing right now. He wasn't so sure he wanted to live in the one he was in now, and wasn't that a depressing thought? He started his Occlumency exercises, but gave up when he was unable to clear the yearning from his mind. It was perhaps an opening, but Voldemort already knew Harry regretted aspects of the past, so it was unlikely to provide him with any new information. He went to sleep still feeling the soul deep yearning for change, for the chance to do things better.

He awoke to a new world.


	2. Écouter

Disclaimer: Forgot this last chapter. Anything you recognise doesn't belong to me, but rather JK Rowling, and associated publishing companies she's granted rights to. I'm just playing around in her sand box. The bit on Sharks is from Wikipedia. There's a couple lines in here straight out of the first book too, though just a couple.

Stomp, stomp, stomp.

Harry woke spitting up dust, and momentarily disoriented by his location.

'Huh... Back in the cupboard? How the heck did I manage to get in here? I guess I could have sleepwalked or something. Ron is always telling me how restless I am when I fall asleep, it'd be just my luck for that to turn into sleepwalking now.' Harry sighed and looked around him sleepily. 'Odd, I could have sworn the cupboard was quite a bit smaller than this by now. I guess I really should eat more at Hogwarts if I can still fit in here.'

Despite his mental reassurances, Harry was starting to get the feeling that all was not as it ought to be. It was confirmed by the rap on the door, and his aunt's shrill voice demanding, "Up! Get up! Now!"

Harry shot upright, bashing his head on the roof of the cupboard. 'What? How does she know I'm here? I thought they were ignoring me this summer...' Suddenly the essay topic from the night before popped into his head. 'No...no, it can't be!' He started almost hyperventilating, but forced himself to calm down. Now was not the time to panic.

Pulling on a new set of rags, Harry relied on the routine of a decade, however rusty, to let him know what to do. His mind calmed under the influence of the routine, but every little event and fact triggered a bit more shock and detachment.

It was only once breakfast was prepared that Harry had a moment to think. It was Dudley's birthday, he was ten, and he had absolutely no idea where to start.

Was he hallucinating? Or dreaming? That seemed the most logical conclusion. How could he test that? If he was, help would be coming soon- he was only a few days, he estimated, from being picked up from Privet Drive when he woke to find himself here.

It was a much scarier conclusion to consider that he might not be hallucinating. If he was, he had plenty of help and support to bring him back to health. If he wasn't... he was an orphan again, and it was him against the world. No friends. Dumbledore had an eye on him, but that wasn't exactly a good thing- nothing Harry had seen led him to believe it was in his best interests to have Dumbledore's attention. The prophecy brought Harry's attention to why. Harry could understand- the world, effectively, rested on Harry, and it was that which concerned Dumbledore, not any personal affection. Nonetheless, it meant Harry likely could not turn to Dumbledore for help and advice. He was liable to find himself Obliviated to a fare-thee-well, and stuffed back into his sheath at the Dursleys until he showed up at Hogwarts to repeat the cycle. Sirius was in Azkaban. Remus was... where was Remus, exactly?

Harry considered a moment. He had never considered before... Remus was a friend of his father's, and claimed to have some affection for him. Why, then, had he never met the man? It was surely not exceptionally hard to track him down. A simple point me spell and a little leg work would have surely brought Remus to him. Did the wards somehow keep him away? Well, it was a thought for another time.

Harry tuned back into the conversation at the table, pushing his uncertainties to the back of his mind.

"Bad news, Vernon." Petunia said. "Mrs Figg's broken her leg. She can't take him."

Dudley's look of horror amused Harry, but he took a few seconds to contemplate. Did he actually want to go to the zoo? He had, after all, gotten in trouble for it last time. Even if he didn't talk to the snake, his standards had changed enough that half a knickerbocker glory and not being yelled at didn't make his day one of the best he'd ever had. He was also sure his guardians would jump at the opportunity to leave him somewhere for the day, if he could come up with an alternative they could accept. He could use the time to think and plan.

"What about... the library?" He blurted. It was only when Petunia and Vernon's head jerked around to peer at him suspiciously that he realised he had said the idea out loud. However eager they would be to be rid of him for the day, speaking out of turn...speaking at all really... was strongly discouraged in the Dursley household. Vernon started his customarily rant about ungrateful nephews, but Petunia at least seemed to be considering.

"...no good, dirty, rotten..."

Petunia cut him off. "Dear, let's do it."

Vernon looked at his wife like she'd betrayed him. "But, Pet!"

"No, Vernon. The freak has a good idea for once. They can watch him at the library easily enough, he can't get into too much trouble, and if we hurry, we can get rid of him before the Polkisses show up. Here now, finish your paper later- go drop him off."

Vernon grumbled, but complied. Harry was pleasantly surprised- he could remember his suggestion to stay at home being nixed last time, and he was surprised he'd come up with a suggestion that worked this time. It was also the perfect opportunity to test his theory. Hallucinating, there'd be no way that he could generate a library full of knowledge on topics he knew little about. If he wasn't hallucinating, it was as good a place as any to sit and think about the future.

He was bundled into the car without further ado, and the next thing he knew, he was standing outside of the Kingston Public Library, which was only a few minutes from his house. Taking a deep breath, he entered, trying his best not to seem suspicious. He had the feeling he had more than a little in common with the sort of homeless person who might curl up in a bathroom for a night. Getting thrown out for loitering was not his goal for the day.

He wandered into the nonfiction section, and picked up a book on sharks. Since the only thing he knew about sharks was that they lived in oceans and Krum had managed a partial transfiguration into one during the triwizard tournament, he wasn't expecting much...oh. So much for the hallucination theory.

"The hammerhead sharks are a group of sharks in the family Sphyrnidae, so named for the unusual and distinctive structure of their heads, which are flattened and laterally extended into a "hammer" shape called a "cephalofoil". Most hammerhead species are placed in the genus Sphyrna while the winghead shark is placed in its own genus, Eusphyra. Many, not necessarily mutually exclusive, functions have been proposed for the cephalofoil, including sensory reception, maneuvering, and prey manipulation..."

Harry snapped the book shut, feeling sick to his stomach. Now what?

After borrowing crayons and paper from the Librarian, he sat down to plan. There were so many priorities to consider! Finally, he came up with a to-do list.

"1. Free Sirius. Kill the rat.

2. Come up with a cover story. Time travel's illegal, so DON'T GET CAUGHT.

3. Get more resources in Diagon Alley. There's no way to know when I'll make it back there, so try to get catalogues too.

4. Make allies. There's no one else to depend on here, so the more people I can get on my side, the better.

5. Remove Quirrel as a threat. How though?"

Harry stopped there. Who was he kidding? Even according to his friends, "Potter" and "planning" were practically opposites. He always seemed to end up making plans with false assumptions, and it just cost him time when everything fell apart. He'd do better to try to be better prepared personally, and let events fall where they would. His luck tended to let him take advantage of opportunities as they came, if nothing else by putting him smack dab in the centre of every catastrophe.

He decided to spend his time in the Library productively anyway. He picked up a few books on Victorian manners (Hermione had once mentioned that Wizarding manners seemed in many ways to be a throw back to this time, and it couldn't hurt to be more polite, if he was looking for allies), politics, logic, and languages. Sweet talking the librarian got him a library card. The day sped by in a flash, and it seemed like he'd hardly put a dent in his stack of books when Vernon showed up to get Harry.

The ride back to Privet Drive was surprisingly peaceful. Vernon seemed to be in a good mood, and not even the presence of his hated nephew could get him down. He seemed to be glancing at Harry every now and again, and he spoke up about what was on his mind as the car pulled into the short driveway of the house.

"Well, hmph, seems like the library could do a young hooligan like you some good. Maybe something will stick in your head, and you'll be able to support yourself off the Dole when you're a bit older. Keeps you out of your poor Aunt's hair anyway, she has enough to be doing with Dudders home for the last summer before Smeltings. You'll be going back after you finish your chores and the last day of school tomorrow, too, I think." Vernon seemed to have second thoughts when he saw Harry's smile. "Now, don't you be thinking this is an excuse to be getting up to trouble when you're out of your Aunt's eye! We'll find out, and you'll not like the consequences. Also, don't be slacking on your chores, or I'm sure Petunia can come up with something else to keep you busy."

And thus his pattern for the next several weeks was set. Whereas, in his "past", Harry had been locked for the next few weeks in the cupboard under the stairs, Harry instead mastered basic greetings and some phrases in French, Bulgarian, and Welsh (chosen in honour of Fleur, Viktor, and his own parents, who had lived in Wales), learned how to conduct himself in polite society to the degree a child of his age would be expected to know, learned about logical flaws (and understood a bit better why Hermione always got so frustrated with his) and had a bit more context to approach politics with. He had mostly stopped tripping everytime he moved, still used to the balance of his more grown body. For a while, he had felt like Tonks must. He was well fed and making progress towards his goals. He felt content.

His relatives seemed more indifferent to him than he remembered. He attributed this to him not having set a snake on Dudley, and being out from underfoot. On review, he could even somewhat sympathise with them last time. While he had known the boa constrictor had meant no harm, Vernon and Petunia had just seen a animal who could have killed Dudley be released by their nephew who was angry with them. For all they knew, he had tried to kill his cousin. Taken that way... well, he still had many things in his past to lay at their feet, but this was not one of them.

Finally the day came to get his letter. His anticipation was so great he had not gone to sleep the night before, and he could still hardly sit still in his chair at the dining room table.

"Get the mail, Dudley." Vernon said gruffly from behind his paper.

"I'll get it!" Harry volunteered, and was halfway down the hall before anyone could say anything else. This time, he opened the envelope in the hallway, and skimmed through the letter. To his surprise, it wasn't exactly the same as the one he had received in his first life time from Hagrid. An extra handout offered a form to fill out for a Professor's visit to explain the Wizarding World, directions to several magical shopping districts in England, Scotland, Ireland, and Wales, and scheduled guided visits at each for interested parties. It also had instructions on using owl post (something that Harry realised now must have been covered somewhere, else no muggleborn students would actually reply to the missive).

He walked into the dining room with the letter open, as Vernon yelled impatiently. "Hurry up boy, checking for letter bom-" Vernon's voice cut off in a strangled cry as he leapt to his feet at the sight of the letter. Harry looked up innocently.

"Uncle Vernon, why didn't you ever tell me I was a wizard?" Vernon paled and sunk back into his seat at that question. Aunt Petunia flushed, and looked, to Harry's more mature eyes, somewhere between embarassed and angry.

Petunia responded after a few seconds, since Vernon seemed incapable of speech. "My sister was a witch. We'd hoped you wouldn't be- that'd we'd manage to make you normal- but I always knew it wasn't to be. My sister died because of that world, but she'd become a freak because of it long before that. Always coming home for breaks with biting teacups, reading books about curses, and calling me a Muggle. Said my Vernon wasn't good enough to be part of her family, just because he wasn't a Wizard, then dying and having the temerity to leave you here... why, if her world was so superior, could she not find someone else in it she trusted with her children more than a 'lowly Muggle'? And your father, oh, that man! So arrogant, he even changed Vernon into a billy goat at our wedding reception! Our own reception, which we were kind enough to invite them to despite everything! Then your-your kind showed up, waving their wands, and suddenly none of our guests even remembered our beautiful wedding! They thought we'd eloped! I, a perfectly respectable woman, eloping...why it took me years to live down!"

Aunt Petunia was more worked up than Harry had ever seen her. He also had to admit that this explained some things which had always been a mystery to him. He felt sort of as he had when he saw Snape's memories of his father's torment of him. Both Snape and Petunia were thoroughly unpleasant people, but still...Harry wasn't sure that he could think of his parents the same way again.

After all, Harry would not bully someone given the same opportunity...or would he? After all, some of his interactions with Draco could be seen in the same light. He had done right by his family anyway, even though they had been unpleasant. Well, maybe here was a chance to mend a bridge or two...

"I'm sorry, Aunt Petunia. I never knew them, but the way you make them sound, I don't know that I want to anymore. I can't stop being a wizard, though. I will try to respect your boundaries, and not do freaky things where they can bother you, though. I don't want to hurt you. Even though we haven't always gotten along, we're still family." Harry said, forcing himself to go through with his intentions to apologize. He was still bitter. After all, what kind of person punishes a child for having an unusual talent, or for being the child of people the person dislikes? Still, he meant what he said, and he hoped that it might soften his aunt a bit.

Petunia seemed stunned. Vernon, however, seemed to have snapped out of his shock. "You'll not be going! We swore when we took you in we'd put a stop to this nonsense. Into the cupboard with you, and you'll not come out until you rethink this-this wizard NONSENSE!"

~~~July 30th~~~

'The only good thing', Harry thought, 'about being locked in the cupboard, was that he wasn't locked in as long as he had been in his past for the zoo incident. '

Of course, that was assuming that Hagrid showed up today to bust him out, as he assumed he would from the last time. Harry hadn't been as bored as last time either. His library books were locked in with him, and though they were now overdue, he had finished all of them, and memorised whole sections of the Bulgarian, Welsh, and French dictionaries. His walls were covered in crayon sentences in the languages, since he ran out of paper in his second week in lock up. While he was sure his pronunciation was terrible, since he had no one to practice with, he did at least feel he was making progress towards fluency in the languages. Maybe by the time the Triwizard Tournament rolled around, he would be able to make a good impression on Fleur and Viktor...not that impressing a pretty Veela and an international Quidditch star were the only reasons he was learning, of course. Umm hmm, he'd just keep telling himself that, too.

He wasn't even being distracted by hunger pains. Petunia and Vernon pulled him out of the cupboard at regular intervals for meals and restroom breaks, punctuated by long lectures on the evils of magic. Harry truly feared that there was simply no way to mend the rifts between them short of a total Obliviate for all of them. He was fundamentally magical- he could no more be a Muggle than he could be a hippogryph. Less, even, since it was at least theoretically possible to be a magical animagus. He couldn't even say he'd want to be a Muggle. Even after all the tragedies and travails he'd lived through, magic was still marvelous to him, that gift that made him special. It gave him purpose, and entry to a world that was, well, magical. Still, even if his magic was removed tomorrow, he didn't think the relationship could become a good one, as there was simply too much history there, all told.

Harry was conjugating écouter when a loud knocking, following by a splintering crash, announced the arrival of Hagrid. He shot up, straight into the ceiling. BANG! He was almost as loud as Hagrid had been. He hadn't expected the big man yet, since last time he had shown up at midnight, and it was still early in the morning, between breakfast and lunch. Perhaps it was because the Dursleys hadn't been running away this time? After all, as far as he knew, there'd been no new letters, since he'd read the first, even if he hadn't responded. Maybe it had taken Hagrid several extra hours to find them the last time.

Regardless the time had come. Harry could hear Vernon challenge the half-giant in the hallway outside the doorway, but Hagrid had either heard Harry in the cupboard or, more likely, had some way to track him. Hmm...he'd never thought of that before. How had Hagrid found him? What did the mean for how close an eye Dumbledore had kept on him, and how safe he was from other forms of magical surveillance. He was glad he'd thrown away his original list. Who knows what someone could have made of that!

The latch on his cupboard was released, and he blinked at the view of Hagrid, hunched to see inside the cupboard.

"Dursley!" Hagrid bellowed. "What kinda man are ya, ya great lump, locking a lad up like a bad Krup!" Hagrid reached in and literally pulled Harry out of the cupboard, though Harry could tell he was taking pains to be gentle.

"Now look here, we never wanted him in the first place! Why'd your lot leave him here in the first place? I'll have you know that we never wanted the boy, and if you want him treated better, do it yourself!" Vernon seemed a bit intimidated by Hagrid's size, if his cringing was anything to go by, but his voice apparently didn't suffer the same restraint.

"Yer his family, yeh great prune! Why, I've a mind to use a curse or twa, tah make yah regret it, but the lad ought nah see tha." Hagrid turned his attention to Harry, still in his big hands, several inches off the ground. Setting him down, Hagrid started trying to brush him off. "Sorry bou' tha, Harry. Did cha get yer letter? Are yeh ready to leave?"

Harry waved Hagrid off his continued attempts to clean him up, and nodded. "Yes, I'm ready. Will I have a chance to come back? Because otherwise, I should really take the opportunity to pack while I have the chance."

Hagrid looked doubtfully at his cupboard. "Well, I dunno. Dumbledore said I oughta just take yeh shopping then straight back, but I canna just let yeh live in a cupboard. Why, yer school trunk would nah fit! Why don't yeh pack now, and I'll send an owl to ask 'em where I oughta bring yeh after."

Harry was surprised. He honestly hadn't expected that answer, he had just thought it was a good way to seem ignorant. He was likely to get away with more if Hagrid thought his only information was from his letter. He bundled up his library books, as it wasn't likely the Dursleys would return them for him. The overdue fines would be pretty bad when he got back, but he could afford to buy the books if necessary, now that he had access to his vault again. A few changes of rags were bundled with the sheet off his bed into a quick napsack, and he was ready to go.

It was time to reenter the world in which he was born, and start effecting the changes he had come back to make.


End file.
